


Jackpot

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond and Lindir play go fish.





	Jackpot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyLynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLynx/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for peredhelofthecave’s “14 "Cards" from the prompt list? Elrond/Lindir, Nsfw, Involving some kind of card playing.” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Do you have any fours?” Elrond asks, peering across the small, round table that they sit at, tucked into the corner of his grand quarters. The purple-orange light of the sunset washes through the balcony to change the colour of his cards, the faces hidden from Lindir’s view. Lindir scans his own hand. 

His hearts beats that little extra bit faster when he realizes his answer. He squeaks, “Go fish.”

With a quiet sigh, Elrond sets his cards down, his hands withdrawing to his collar. His broach and circlet are already sitting on the table, little left safe the fabric itself, and that’s what Elrond works on—he draws it open down the middle, unfastening each hitch and winding steadily lower, revealing more and more of his sun-kissed skin. Lindir’s eyes hungrily follow the trail, though he feels guilty for it—but he can’t look away. He doesn’t _want_ to. This is the stuff of his greatest fantasies, things he never thought would ever come true. He fully expected Elrond to end the game by now, but instead, the rules are upheld even now. Elrond rises from his seat to shed his robes completely, and Lindir experiences a twinge of disappointment to see that he has trousers on underneath. Still, a shirtless Elrond is far better than a clothed one. With his robes pooled inelegantly across the floor, Elrond takes his seat again. Lindir positively _stares_.

For a long moment, that’s all that happens. Lindir’s brain isn’t functioning, but his vision works just fine, and he ogles Elrond up with an intense, shameful _longing_ , wanting to memorize every little detail. He eyes the chiseled lines of Elrond’s abs, tracing the supple rise and curves of each muscle, following along the ancient scars and over each pink-brown nipple. Lindir doesn’t realize his mouth is dry until he’s licking his lips. Then Elrond prompts, “Well?”

Lindir startles. Right. _The game_. He’d entirely forgotten. It’s his turn, his chance to keep his own propriety intact or mirror his lord. He wants to _win_ , of course, because the winner is granted an unimaginable prize, but he can’t for the life of him remember what cards Elrond’s asked for in the past. 

Smiling kindly as though he understands, Elrond murmurs, “It is a very strange game, is it not?”

Lindir agrees and nods, though he hurriedly adds, “But I am very pleased to have the honour of playing it with you, my lord.”

Elrond chuckles softly. “I must say, when Thranduil first mentioned it to me, I thought there was no chance at all that I would ever try it. You can imagine my surprise when my sweet assistant, of all people, expressed interest in one of _Thranduil’s_ suggestions...”

Lindir was surprised himself. If anything, he would consider himself the complete _opposite_ of King Thranduil. Even more difficult was actually summoning the courage to open his mouth and _ask_ for such a vulgar experience. He’s still shocked his lord agreed. But seeing the view now, he’s very, very grateful for it.

Mainly to distance himself from the Woodland Realm’s side of things, Lindir does note, “Although, my lord, the game that King Thranduil presented was far more complex. The variation we now play was taught to me by Bilbo—oh, ah, without the... ah... ‘stakes,’ as it were...” He’s sure he’s blushing. But he’s probably been blushing since the game began. It felt scandalous even seeing Elrond remove the circlet from his head. Elrond offers another gentle smile. 

There’s another pause, during which Lindir tries not to let his eyes stray down along Elrond’s broad shoulders, but then he remembers that it’s his turn. Horribly self conscious, he asks, “Have you any twos?” He isn’t quite sure what he wants the answer to be. His body’s nothing to look at, and he’s sure he’ll die of embarrassment when it’s his turn to remove his robes, but on the other hand, he quite likes the idea of them both being naked _together._

He’s saved, at least for another round—Elrond hands him a card, which Lindir combines with his own, setting the completed stack facedown on the table. Elrond smoothly tries, “Do you have any sevens?”

Lindir doesn’t even have to look; he knows he doesn’t. Mortified and horrendously eager, Lindir shakes his head. Somehow, he manages to mouth, “Go fish.”

Unfortunately, he’s miscalculated, and Elrond doesn’t remove his trousers. Instead, he bends down to pull off his sandals. Lindir had forgotten those, and he’s glad that Elrond must have too, to have gone for the robes first. When Elrond’s finished, he draws a card.

Lindir asks, “Three?” 

Elrond hands him two, leaving Lindir with another completed set and single card left, and sighs, “It seems I must ask for a four again.”

Lindir, quite sure that this is it, breathes, “Go fish.” 

“That is most unfortunate,” Elrond informs him, “as this game is about to become wildly inappropriate.”

Lindir might actually be trembling with anticipation. Desperate to see it through to the end, Lindir points out, “We are in the privacy of your quarters, my lord.”

Elrond glances about as though to confirm it. They’re blessedly alone. It’s just Lindir and the almost-naked elf of his dreams. Elrond says, “It seems we should have calculated this better, to ensure that we were both wearing enough to complete the game. I am about to lose all I have, and we still have cards left to draw.

Lindir’s very much okay with that. But he also doesn’t want to take advantage, and thus carefully offers, “Perhaps this means you may concede victory to me early...?”

Elrond looks at him for a long moment, then nods his head. Inside, Lindir’s screaming. “Very well, I concede.” Lindir’s entire body is too hot. He should’ve shed his robes too. Elrond asks, “The prize is thus yours too decide: what will you have of mine?” 

Lindir wants nothing more than to claim Elrond’s body—to request that Elrond bend him over that very table and relentlessly pound into him. A buzzing noise fills Lindir’s ears as his consciousness slips off into vivid daydreams: all the lewd things that he would ask of his beloved lord. But finally, his mouth opens, and less bawdy words pour out: “Will you play another round with me? Atop...” his voice shakes, but he tentatively finishes, “atop your bed, where it is more comfortable? And... without the items that we have lost...”

Lindir fully expects rejection. He’s already taken up enough of his lord’s evening, and he has no right to stay past dark. When Elrond begins collecting their cards off the table, Lindir fears their time has come to its end. 

Then Elrond rises, without bending to collect his robes, and agrees, “As you wish. Though technically, I have also lost the right to my trousers—will you have me remove them as well?”

Before Lindir’s brain can remind him of their positions, Lindir blurts, “ _Yes_.” 

Elrond’s eyes glint as though he never expected Lindir to say anything else. It fills Lindir with hope, especially when Elrond tells him, “You are most generous in your winnings, my Lindir. You have given me the chance to return the favour.”

While Lindir’s busy burning up, Elrond goes to set the cards down on his bed. Then he climbs out of his trousers, facing away, giving Lindir the opportunity to watch the sculpted globes of his taut rear before he takes his seat and bids Lindir to follow.


End file.
